Virginia sighed out of a dream about laughing toys.
Her bedroom lay quiet and warm. She listened to the breath of the wind outside her window. Quietly, she stepped out of bed, grabbed her teddy bear like an afterthought, and tiptoed to the window. She nudged the curtain aside. Her lips curled into a grin and she let her forehead touch the glass. Read More…
Brett put aside his shovel and stared into the hole, thinking, Julie, what have you done?
Lurking behind his inner question was the vivid memory of the barking and the whining. As recently as last night! It had irritated him, too, at three o’clock in the morning, when their neighbor’s dog Poopsy unfailingly awoke and began braying its sharp yaps into the sleepy darkness. Read More…
I am on the B Train, reading the stark, black typeface of today’s headline: Religious Murders Escalate. The picture of the most recent victim stares up at me. A man this time, probably late thirties. Pale face, blank eyes.
I drop the paper to my lap. I loosen my tie and let my head fall back against the torn blue cushion. I close my eyes.
There is a smell about me, and a certain close humidity. Read More…
Lightning splintered on the bleak horizon, beyond the sprawling, rain-soaked runways of Denver International Airport.
Not a swell day to fly, thought Stephen Lindsay, perched on his barstool. He swiveled back nervously to face his double whiskey. Lucky I’m not flying. Read More…
The morning William woke up missing his left ear, the sky was overcast. The gray day made him drowsy and kept him unconscious well past his usual waking time. He lifted his head reluctantly from the pillow, aching to drift back into slumber but knowing he ought to get up. With one gritty eye, he squinted at the clock.
Past ten on a Sunday morning. Read More…